


sweet and sour motivation

by BlackBat09



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25854988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackBat09/pseuds/BlackBat09
Summary: if a mutant decomposes in the rainforest in the arms of a forgotten god, is anyone there when he wakes up?
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	sweet and sour motivation

It’s only after Terra Verde that Logan realizes he doesn’t know where Quentin lives on Krakoa.

He walks Jean to her room at the Summer House with a slow kiss good night, gives Scott a wink and gets a grin in return before ducking into his own room to shower and change. The Five should be done with Quentin by now, he’s fairly sure, and there’ll be no fanfare for him like for the first resurrections, or the Crucible- he gets lost for a moment thinking about who, not caught up in the awe of overcoming death, the joy of a safe mutantkind, would be there for Quentin, and shakes himself out of his stupor to finish tugging on his clothes. It’s unfair to Quentin that Logan could only come up with a small amount- sure, he’s been rough in the past, had his stumbles, but he’s a good man at heart. He’s grown, over the years, through relationships and hardships, and Logan knows, if he just gave it a chance, that things would go better.

But that’s up to Quentin.

The gate takes him to Akademos, windows still shining in the night, which doesn’t surprise him in the slightest. They’re kids, after all, and kids will do as they please with sleep, especially with the new style of learning they’re trying to employ over here. Everyone teaching each other, Chuck tried to explain, in a free environment, which just sounds to Logan like they’re letting them all run wild and calling it an education, but what does he know, really. Not like he and Kate and Bobby ran the Jean Grey School on a wing, a prayer, and some real fudged numbers.

He heads for Zeta first, since he knows it best, where Laura had taken up with her old New X-Men pals and Gabby had, of course, followed. With Laura in the Vault, Gabby’s been restless, hopping between here, the communal house, and staying with Daken, so he’s really not surprised when she’s not tumbling out the door to greet him. Logan swears he forgets sometimes just how many damn kids were around, but then he sees a face and remembers how many they lost, to M-Day, to Stryker, and can’t help but be glad for the crowded house.

“Logan.” A voice that is many catches his attention and Logan turns to see the Cuckoos, mouth turning up slightly at how they huddle together, again the Five-In-One, another return to normal, to _right_. “You just missed Gabby.”

“She’s going to _Akihiro’s_ ,” Esme mutters with clear distaste, and one of her sisters pinches her arm, getting a tiny swat in return that causes a ripple of poking and prodding until they settle again.

“Figured as much,” he confirms, bemused, shifting a little and tucking his hands in his back pockets. “I was lookin’ for Quire, actually. Thought I’d start here, ask around.” Mentioning Quentin to the girls, he expects disgust, exasperation, but the way they blink at him in unison, the tiniest of lines between their brows, is something else, and he feels himself frown in return.

“Quentin?”

“Quentin’s not here.”

“We’ve never even seen him in Akademos,” they murmur in unison, looking between each other as if to confirm and shaking their heads.

“He might be avoiding us, though,” Sophie offers, the flock nodding together. “You know how he is.”

“Chicken.”

“Coward.”

“Loser.”

“Gremlin."

“Yeah, I know,” Logan interrupts- he knows they don’t like Quentin, for reasons he’s not going to say aren’t good, but he’d rather cut to the chase, try to figure out where he actually could be if not Zeta. “The Jean Grey School kids, where do they stay?”

“Sigma House,” the girls answer, pointing together at the huddle of three domes just next door, though there’s a twist of skepticism on their faces, and, Logan has to admit, knowing it’s so close makes his heart sink a little. Quentin’s good, but coming in and out of there every day without being seen once by his neighbors?

He shakes off the worry mentally and gives the girls a smile, murmuring, “Thanks,” before he turns to go, seeing their heads lean together in his peripherals before they speak up.

“Make sure he’s not being too much trouble,” they add, and Logan nods, knowing it’s their own little way of saying they hope he’s okay.

“I’ll do what I can,” he agrees, and they bob their heads, five pairs of eyes on his back as he crosses the green to the next building, walk a little brisker than it was before. He doesn’t like the feeling that the girls’ near-complete cluelessness about Quentin has left in his chest, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket until he reaches Sigma’s door, pulling one out to knock.

There’s some back and forth among the noise Logan can already hear from inside, arguing over who gets the door before it finally opens, sliding open with a muttered, “Filho da puta.”

“Watch your language, Iara.” The aquatic girl jumps before looking down at Logan with a broad, toothy grin, looking over her shoulder to call to the rest of the house.

“It’s Professor Logan, hide your shit!” He can’t help the quiet huff of amusement as he hears a few people actually start to scramble, shaking his head and fixing Iara with an amused look.

“You know I ain’t your professor anymore.”

“Sei,” she agrees, still grinning as she steps out of the way to let Logan step over the threshold. “But they made me answer the door.”

“Logan!” Light as she is, a huff still escapes Logan as Idie wraps him up in a hug, curling an arm around her to pat her back gently before she lets go, smiling brightly at him. It’s good to see her, knowing the ups and downs she’d been through before he died. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the smell of the house- young adults, sweat and musk and a few specific scents that evoke their powers- and feels the frown return to his face as he finds no trace of that oversweet strawberry scent, nothing to indicate Quentin had ever set foot in Sigma. “Mr. Logan?”

“Sorry, kid,” he murmurs, giving Idie a small smile as he turns his attention back to her. “It’s good to see you.”

She still looks a little concerned, but nods, agreeing, “You, too. We thought you’d forgotten about us, never coming to visit.”

Ouch. He sighs, chagrined, especially since this visit isn’t just to see them, either. “You know how it is with me. Don’t never get to rest for long. But I’ll make more time,” he assures her, and that seems to placate her enough to gesture him towards their sitting area. “Seems like you’re doin’ alright, though.”

“Everyone’s adjusting at their own pace,” she murmurs, folding her legs under herself as she perches on the couch, Logan pulling up a seat for himself and resting his elbows on his knees. “With how many mutants are still arriving, nobody is entirely _settled_ , but we help each other along. It’s good, to have the class here.” She pauses, lips twisting, before amending, “Some of the class.”

It’s almost exactly what Logan didn’t want to hear, brows knitting even as people move around them, some greeting him in passing, a few people lingering with or around Logan and Idie as they talk. “Who all’s missin’?” he asks, getting a sigh.

“I don’t know everyone, but- Kubark and Broo obviously have their own things to attend to,” she begins, fingers tapping lightly at her leg.

“I went with Hisako to get Barnell and Angel and their kids,” Glob pipes up, settling on the other end of the couch from Idie. "Trevor and Roxy ditched us for Delta House, though."

Idie swats him lightly, “Oh, hush. Miss Jubilee invited her class to stay, since Delta has all that extra room. They’re not _missing_.”

“They’re not here!” he protests, and Logan can’t help a small smile despite himself.

“Who else?” Both former students grow quiet, a little somber.

“Evan’s not here,” Iara speaks up, arms crossed where she stands near Logan’s seat, “And we don’t know what’s going on with him, seeing as Apocalypse is here, you know?”

Logan scowls at that. The Five-in-One are five again, and if anyone tried refusing Laura or Gabby, they’d have Logan to answer to, so if Evan’s not around because he’s a _clone_ \- “I can try talking to Jeannie. See if she knows where the Council sits on Evan ‘n make sure they’re not doin’ nothing funny. Do you know if he’s...?”

She shakes her head, and Logan glances at the others, getting sad looks from Vic, now settled on the back of the couch, and Idie, both giving the same answer. Glob is the last to join in, almost hesitant, and Logan wishes to god, not for the first time, that the kid had more damn tells, but he lets it go.

“You can probably talk to Trevor ‘bout X-Factor doin’ something for him. Jean-Paul prioritized his sister, kid should get a freebie for his friend,” Logan suggests- in fact, he’ll probably _suggest it_ to the speedster himself, maybe with Rachel backing him up; Evan was her student, too. The kids all sort of nod, a few mutters exchanged about who’ll go to Delta in the morning, before Logan hazards to ask, “Is Quire in another house like the others?”

“Quentin’s _here_?” Glob half-shouts it before anyone else can say a word, but shocked expressions ripple through the room, from those sitting around Logan to the kids who’d been lingering, trying not to be obvious they were listening.

“I _told_ you I saw him the other day,” Julian pipes up, and Santo lobs something at his head that he deflects with a flash of green and a pout.

“Shut up, stupid. You said you _thought_ you saw him and it turned out to be Pixie, ‘cuz your eyes are shit and they’re both short and have pink hair.” Logan feels a smile twitch across his lips despite himself, shaking his head a little: he really has missed these kids.

“Mr. Logan, are you saying Quentin’s on Krakoa?” Idie’s voice cuts through the low buzz of the house, and Logan wants to flinch, again, rubbing a hand across his jaw as he tries to figure out what to say.

“Yeah. Somewhere ‘round here,” he murmurs, trying to give it some levity, but Idie’s mismatched eyes hold him fast, brows knit.

“How... is he?” she asks haltingly, and Logan draws up short, mouth poised to give an answer that won’t come. He wants to give the same sort of requisite, dismissive answer that he’d give anyone else, call Quentin loud, irritating, but Idie’s face is drawn, a wrinkle of worry and guilt marring her forehead, and a quick glance at anyone listening shows about the same: contrary to popular belief, Logan can read a room. He just rarely cares as much about it as he does these kids.

But how is Quentin? Frustrated. Angry. Dead, again, for the third time, on Logan’s watch, and yet he can’t give his old classmates even the slightest indication of his actual mental state-

“He’s on his third resurrection,” he answers, painfully honest, and it’s like the room stops breathing for one tense moment before it erupts into noise.

“Quê!”

“His _third_?”

“What has he been _doing_?”

“That’s insane!”

The pit in Logan’s stomach only grows, a yawning, gnawing emptiness that feels worse than he’s allowed himself to feel so far, at least about Quentin in particular. He’d dreaded having to tell Scott when he killed Jean, but with no one there to wait for Quentin- no one there to mourn him- it’d never hit Logan this badly, and that makes it even worse. When had things between them eroded so far that Logan was willing to ignore it until someone else knew his shame, instead of holding himself accountable?

“He’s been runnin’ missions with me. Things get rough out there sometimes, but he’s holdin’ his own,” he explains, incredulous looks prompting him to add, “Mostly. It ain’t easy on anyone.”

“Who else has died _three times_?” Glob asks, and Logan tries not to rile at the accusatory note, because he’s got a point.

“Domino’s had to get resurrected twice. And Jean- once on this team and once with the X-Men, in the beginning. We’re tryin’ to make this thing, independence, Krakoa, work for all of us, and sometimes that means-”

“You sound like Cyclops.” Idie’s voice cuts through his speech, icy, and Logan again falters. “When he wanted to rise up, you wanted to keep us safe. That’s why we left Utopia. That’s why you made the school. And now because it’s Krakoa, it’s fine that Quentin _dies_?”

He flexes his fist, not aggressive, not upset with anyone but himself. “Quire’s an adult now, Idie. Lotta you are. You can make that choice for yourselves. I wasn’t gonna have Cyke drive kids into some damn fool war.” But Idie’s face is stony, and a glance at the rest of the room runs the gamut from discomfort to anger, so he doesn’t explain himself any further, simply sighs and passes a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Where else might he be, if he ain’t here?”

“He was part of Miss Lee’s class,” Jia speaks up, the flick of her wings betraying emotion her even voice doesn’t. “Maybe he’s in Delta.”

“Appreciate it,” he answers quietly, pushing himself to his feet and looking at the assembled group once more before jerking a thumb towards the door, feeling more shame well up at the question he asks. “Anyone mind pointing me to which one it is?”

He really has neglected them. All of them, Quentin included. Still, Glob stands and moves to the front door, holding it open for Logan to step outside and closing it behind them, cutting them off from the rest of the class, though Logan can still hear how quickly they’ve started to shift and mutter amongst themselves.

“Delta’s on the other side of Zeta- the big, long one.” Logan nods, muttering his thanks, about to head out when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder. “Mr. Logan, if- when. _When_ you find Quentin. Can you tell him we wanna see him? We’ve all been worried about where he was and... I’ve been wanting to talk to him about something. Thank him.”

Interesting. He knows the boys have been friends on and off for ages, but what this could be about when Quentin’s been gone at least a year is beyond Logan. Still, he nods, mostly because he gets the feeling, especially after his students’ reactions, that Quentin needs to hear that people want him around. Glob nods back and lets him go, setting off across the grounds again to Delta House and rapping his knuckles against the door, a little sharper than the past two houses, growing impatient. There’s no tickle of strawberry at his nose here, either, but Glob had said Trevor was here, and the kid could tell him if there were any traces of Quentin in the habitat, if he’d even seen him at all.

The blonde who opens the door isn’t Trevor, though Logan still gives Paige a slight nod when she smiles at him, stepping back out of the doorway and gesturing at the front room. “Wanna come in, Logan?”

“Not tonight, Guthrie. I was wonderin’ if Quentin Quire was around,” he asks, and she frowns and shakes her head, leaning heavy on her back foot as she crosses her arms.

“I haven’t seen him, no. Jubilee invited her kids, but I don’t know if he was even ‘round when she did,” she murmurs, and Logan wants to snarl in frustration. _Dammit_ , Quire.

“You got Eye Boy here, though, don’t you?” Paige nods, leaning back a little more to holler for Trevor into the house, and Logan spies Japheth sprawled across one of the couches, feeding his girls what looks like chunks of bismuth. Trevor peeks out of the hallway, all his eyes wide, and then jogs to the front door, grinning to see Logan. “Kid.”

“Hey, Mr. Logan. How’ve you been?”

Well, today, not great. “You know how it is some days. Especially now that you got that team of yours.” His face flushes, eyes darting in every direction but looking at Logan as he carefully rubs his neck and chuckles.

“Yeah, I guess so. Uh- what’s up?”

“Do you know when the last time you saw Quentin was? In Akademos, or just- on the island in general?” Trevor blinks- scattered randomly across his body, only a few that Logan sees matching up with his main eyes, the rest following at random- lips twisting as he again rubs at his neck, slow, considering.

“The last time I saw _Quentin_? Had to be weeks ago, leaving through the LA gate with Daken. Never in Akademos, though. Not even once.” He frowns, lowering his voice slightly. “Benji’s been kinda upset about it. Between Quentin ditching for the west coast and now this, he’s frustrated. And worried.”

Logan feels his heart rate start to climb, somewhere between worried and _angry_ himself, finally allowing himself a low growl of, “Dammit, Quire.” Trevor winces and Paige’s lips purse, and Logan sighs, feeling the beginnings of a headache touching his temples. “I appreciate it, kid. Take care.”

It’s about all Logan can offer as he turns to go, his walk a purposeful stride now, catching sight of the Five in their usual huddle, most of them leaning on each other in some way.

“Hope!” he shouts, watching the redhead lift her eyes and grin, giving him a little wave.

“Logan, hey,” she calls back, but he’s past pleasantries at this point, coming to an abrupt halt beside her and her little harem.

“You turning in for the night, that mean everyone’s done cookin’? You know where Quire’s at?” Hope blinks, glances at the others at the near-snarl in Logan’s voice and gets a shrug from Fabio and a few murmurs between them.

“Quentin Quire?” Eva asks, and Hope nods distractedly, squinting at Logan like she’s trying to puzzle him out.

“He stuck around the Arbor Magna to see Domino emerge, so she wasn’t alone, less than an hour ago,” Josh answers Logan, his hand resting at Hope’s shoulder as she continues to peer at Logan. “Then he left. I don’t know where he went, though.”

“Nobody comes to see _him_ when he resurrects,” Hope finally speaks up, her voice soft. “So I don’t know how you expect we’d know where he goes. Maybe ask Sage.” He stares back at her for a long, silent moment before he nods and steps around them, pace kicking up to a jog.

“Really, Logan?”

“Yes, _really_ , Sage,” he grinds out in return, trying to keep an even temper as she glances sidelong at him, clearly not impressed with the posturing he’s doing, unintentional as it may be. “Kid just hatched- not like I’m askin’ you to go back days or weeks, just within the past hour or so. That’s when the Five said he left the Arbor.”

Her painted lips twist at him, sour, glaring over the top of her glasses and meeting his own hard look until finally she throws her hands up and turns back to her desk. “You know, if it was this crucial you talk to him, maybe you should’ve-”

“Been there when he woke up,” Logan finishes with a snarl, fists again flexing aimlessly as he tries not to pace. “Believe me, figured that out when I went lookin’ for him in Akademos and couldn’t even catch a whiff.”

“Well, you wouldn’t,” Tessa murmurs absently, eyes tracing lines of code and statistics that make Logan’s skull ache just to think about.

“How the hell was I supposed to know he picked somewhere else on the island to put down roots? It’s been a good couple’a years, I thought he’d wanna settle in with his friends, maybe that weird girl of his.” Sage’s typing slows, and Logan can feel the weight of her eyes, hair standing on end before he turns to see her staring at him, face unreadable. “ _What_?”

“Quire doesn’t live on Krakoa, Logan.”

The air escapes him in a soft rush, words landing like a gut punch and leaving him grasping for- something. Anything. There’s nothing in her tone, her body language, that says she’s not serious, but there’s no way- “Why the hell not?”

“He’s the telepath,” she points out, turning back to her screen, “I just monitor transit. And he’s most often in and out of the New York City gate. Spends maybe ten percent of a week on the island. X-Force alerts go straight to his personal phone so he can gate in.”

Logan doesn’t know how, but it’s the last thing he expected from Quentin, to find out that he’d turned down all-mutant paradise for- humans. Living among them, in their world, when his friends, his family, his _people_ are here. His griping about their system is one thing, but this is beyond complaints. It’s a level of _petty_ Logan hoped he would’ve grown out of by now, a dismissal of everything they’re doing-

A rejection.

Logan hadn’t seen Quentin before the hunt for Chuck’s killer, and, even then, he’d assumed the omega-level had come from Krakoa to do his sleuthing. It hadn’t occurred to him for a moment Quentin didn’t smell right- none of the damp, earthy smell of Krakoa, nothing woody or floral in his scent, no tickle of pollen at Logan’s senses the way there always, always was with mutants from the island. He was so focused on _Quentin_ that he hadn’t used his damn _head_ , just glad to see the kid again, after the months between his Avengers stint and the founding of Krakoa.

He didn’t think for a second when he gated back to the island with Quentin and Neena that he wasn’t bringing the boy _home_.

“And the Council just-” He stops, when he realizes what he’s saying, how it sounds, but Sage knows what he means, arches a brow as she finishes for him.

“Lets him? Well, seeing as he’s a legal adult and there are no laws forcing any mutant to live on Krakoa, yes.” Her lip curls, looking down at Logan for a moment before turning away again, muttering, “You live on the _moon_.”

Logan doesn’t exactly know how to dispute that.

A wave of her hand and most of Sage’s setup disappears before she stands, enlarging a glowing orange image of someone leaving the Hatchery. “Approximately thirty-two minutes ago, Kid Omega exited the Arbor Magna on foot and took an approximately twenty-four minute walk- a little meandering, but ending at your son’s home.”

“Daken’s?” Logan murmurs, squinting at the hologram as he recognizes the house his son had rooted for himself, watches Quentin’s apparent approach. “Hell is he doing there?”

“It’s where Quentin goes after X-Force missions. And his two previous resurrections,” Tessa explains, bringing her hands together and making the image flatten out and disappear, leaving Logan to meet his own stormy gaze in the reflection of her glasses as she crosses her arms. “He hasn’t left it or gated out yet. Might want to go catch him before he does.”

Logan nods absently as he turns to go, muttering his thanks like an afterthought as something stirs in his chest. He’s known about Quentin and Daken hanging out, possibly being friends, and wasn’t too surprised when Trevor mentioned them leaving the island together, but the night’s revelations all together are something else, something Logan doesn’t like in the slightest. Almost none of his former classmates knew that Quentin had set foot on Krakoa, what he’s been doing, if he’s even _alive_ , practically- Even Logan, who thought he had a good idea of the kid thanks to X-Force, is grappling with the idea that he’s known next to nothing about Quire for _months_ now, and the person with the most direct line to Quentin is, instead, his son.

His forearms flex and Logan stops to huff a sharp breath through his nose, shaking himself out until his shoulders are loose, fingers seeming to creak as he peels them out of fists. He wants to _talk_ to Quentin, to see if he’s alright, not fight.

The path to Daken’s isn’t necessarily one Logan could take in his sleep, but he starts to smell Gabby on the way and knows he’s on the right track, slowing from a run to a quick walk as he comes up on the modest home. It glows from inside, the murmur of voices pricking his ears and coaxing him closer, finally scenting that artificial strawberry he’s been looking for on the air. That thing curled heavy in his chest, squeezing, wants him to boot down the door, make himself _known_ , but he steadies himself with another breath as he comes to a stop and knocks.

Gabby answers with a grin, and he returns the smile, even if the open door lets Logan hear that the hissed words from the back of the house are definitely heated, snipping back and forth until Gabby pipes up. “Hey, old man! Fancy seeing you here!”

“Of _fucking course_!” _That’s_ Quentin, and Daken’s answering protests are quickly cut off as he stumbles backwards into the hall and has the door _slammed_ in his face. For a moment, his fist is raised, forearm flexing in that familiar way, but then he just growls and drags his hands over his face, muttering curses to himself in Japanese.

“Daken,” Gabby sing-songs at her brother, seeming pleased as punch despite all the shouting and slamming from him and Quire. “Logan’s here.” 

He sighs, a hint of a laugh in his voice, before he looks from behind his fingers at Logan. “You. That,” he points at the closed door, “is your doing, and I don’t know how I got stuck trying to fix things _you_ did, but you’re it now, because I’m supposed to be watching a _different_ child tonight.”

“ _Eat me, Akihiro_!” Quentin shouts through the door, and he bares his teeth in a mockery of a smile at the solid wood.

“Depends, would it put you in a better mood, Quire?”

Gabby makes an exaggerated retching noise and Logan rubs the bridge of his nose. “Daken.” He can’t even bring himself to be upset with his son, not when he gets a good look at his face when he pushes a hand back through his hair. His usual carefully composed expression is folded, a familiar line of stress between his eyebrows and his lips pursed as he glances back at the room he’d been pushed out of.

“I have a pipsqueak to be a bad influence to,” he murmurs, coming up to ruffle Gabby’s hair and smiling when she growls at him. “Will you just... talk to him?”

“What’s he doin’?” Logan asks, equally quiet. He’d just wanted to ask how Quire was _doing_ when all this started, then what the hell he’s _been_ doing all these months, but now... Now it’s something more, a problem that Daken claims he caused, and Logan, for the life of him, doesn’t know what to expect from Quentin, what to say to him.

“Packing,” Daken answers solemnly, cutting off any more questions with a sharp shake of his head and gesturing towards the back of the house. “He’s gonna leave soon.”

Stepping around his kids, Logan tries to prepare himself as he moves down the hall, resting his hand on the door for a moment before he opens it, forcing himself not to brace for whatever Quentin’s going to throw at him.

It ends up being nothing, not at first. Quentin doesn’t notice the door, or at least doesn’t acknowledge it, giving Logan a moment to take him in that he hasn’t had since Quentin had bloomed and decayed before his eyes. Or, perhaps, since before then. 

The most stark thing is probably his hair, Logan thinks, reset from his usual pink to dark brown, grown out long enough by the Five’s work that the hairs at the nape of his neck overlap the collar of his shirt. It looks soft and fluffy, freshly-washed, floats a little every time he moves, reaching for the pile of clothes beside him to put another stack into the beat-up black duffel spread out on Daken’s bed. His nails, too, are clean, no black polish, allowed to chip away slowly over the weeks before he adds another coat over the last, and every piece of jewelry Logan can see replaced is plain steel but for the solid black plugs in his earlobes. The glasses perched on his nose aren’t tinted, either, clothes shockingly plain compared to his _statement pieces_ \- his blue jeans are slightly frayed at the knee, black shirt faded and thin around the bottom edge, and his combat boots have been tagged out, replaced with black slip-ons that have seen better days, for sure. He looks... healthy, it’s true, the fresh glow of resurrection and likely a shower, but something in the way he moves says the opposite, gnaws at Logan’s gut, more wrong than Domino strolling up without her memories.

What has he been _missing_?

“You gonna stand there and gawk, or are you gonna do the shitty pep talk thing?” Quentin asks, looking up from the bed finally to meet Logan’s eyes, his own properly brown instead of the blue he’s projected on and off over the years. Logan huffs at the dry question and pulls the door shut, trying to pretend that it’s just their normal banter, like there’s not a spark missing in those dark eyes as they bore into his soul.

“You think I’m here for a pep talk, Quire?” Logan answers, and Quentin scoffs, scooping his boots off the floor to shove into his bag before stepping away from the bed, crossing the room to push the bottom drawer of Daken’s dresser shut with his toe, making a high, hollow sound rather than a solid thud.

“Don’t do that. The leading questions, like I’m a child you’re trying to guide to the right answer. I’ll leave you catatonic until I’m long gone.” He steps into the ensuite for a moment, leaving Logan alone with the room, and he takes a deep breath, trying to understand what’s been going on. It does smell like Quentin, faintly, though just that sweet strawberry and something musky and the slightest woody note, no sign of the offensive body spray he’s so fond of; Logan would say Daken banned it while Quentin was staying here, but it doesn’t seem like he was _staying_ here, either, with only a single empty drawer, one abused bag of belongings. Quentin emerges from the bathroom with his soaps and his toothbrush and drops them into his bag with a clatter before he begins to zip it, shaking the sides a little so everything settles. “You just planning to stand in the doorway instead? Brute force it?”

This fucking kid. “No, Quentin. I’m not tryin’ to lecture you, or barricade you in. I’m trying to understand.”

Quentin blinks, dropping the zipper pull and settling his hands on the half-open bag, heaving a breath that moves his whole upper body. “I know I read minds, but I’ve already told you yours is a HAZMAT situation, so how about you try and tell me with your words what the _fuck_ you’re talking about.”

“Why didn’t your classmates from the Jean Grey School know you’d even set foot on the island?” Logan hears his pulse jump immediately, from the already-anxious rabbit pace to hummingbird, and continues to press. “Well, Trevor did, kid sees everything, but the rest? Glob? _Idie_? They may as well not have known if you were _alive_.”

Quentin bites out a laugh, and Logan knows why before he even speaks. “That’s a hell of a word for it. Good thing you weren’t a little earlier to tell them, then it might not have been accurate, right?” He throws the death in Logan’s face and it hits like a slap, his jaw jumping.

“I was trying to find you, Quentin. To make sure you were _okay_ ,” he stresses. “It’s the whole reason I went to Akademos and asked around for you. I didn’t expect to have to find out from Sage you spend almost no time on Krakoa, and most of what you do is- _here_?”

“Daken lets me shower off the _blood_ and the _sweat_ and the fucking _egg yolk_ before I gate home. And keep my own damn clothes and jewelry somewhere, since I seem to be in the habit of _losing_ those when I _die_.” His mouth curls, the sound of him chewing irritably at his tongue stud making the hair stand up on Logan’s neck until Quentin shakes his head. “Do you remember what I told you when I turned seventeen?”

It’s all Logan can do not to flinch as the subject change gives him whiplash, arms crossing over his chest. Even with his powers going awry, even with death on the horizon, those memories are, unfortunately, painfully clear.

“You said a lot in one go. ‘Get the hell out of my club’ was pretty memorable,” he replies, and they both know he’s avoiding the real question, if the wry little twitch of Quentin’s lips says anything.

“I told you I’d seen my future. How everything you fed me while I was your pet project was going to ruin my life.” Logan knows. God, he knows, he remembers all of it. “I told you that you’d get me killed.”

The words have been there. He doesn’t know how he could forget them, ever, forget the feeling of Quentin brushing past the walls they’d worked to build together over years of training, invading Logan’s mind like it was nothing, to force the image of his death into Logan’s memory, seared there like Phoenix fire, chasing him into death and life again. He remembered them when he woke up from the Pale Girl’s hypnosis with Quentin’s blood on his hands, and every time he got angry at the boy afterwards, every time he heard Quentin’s heart rate jump with the sound of his claws, every time Quentin _died_.

And yet time and again, Logan had justified it to himself. Quire’s an adult. Quire volunteered. Quire hasn’t said no.

But Quentin’s never said much of anything, not about the things that matter; Logan knows it’s like pulling teeth because he’s the damn same, and he’d _tried_ to reach him. He doesn’t know when he stopped, or why, but it feels like it’s choking him as he steps up, arms unfolding as he tries to find something to say. Quentin’s distant eyes turn back towards his bag, yanking the zipper all the way shut and hefting it over his shoulder without a sound.

“Quire, you can’t just... go, kid. You’ve always been passionate about mutants gettin’ ahead, about somethin’ like _this_ , and I know it ain’t perfect, but leavin’ it behind means you can’t be here to help it get _better_. Means nobody can help it get better for you.” He tries to step around Logan and he catches Quentin’s shoulder, the smell of salt reaching Logan’s nose as Quentin freezes under his hand. “You _care_ about mutantkind, Quentin. We both know it.”

“And when they start to give a damn about me, I’ll be back to help them sweep up the ashes of paradise,” Quire spits back, shrugging Logan’s hand off with a force that he knows is enhanced by the kid’s powers before pushing out the door into the hall, not bothering to look back as Logan follows.

He can hear Gabby and Daken outside, probably trying to give them the illusion of privacy, and he appreciates it as he catches up to Quentin, grabs him again and forces him to turn, to _look_ at Logan, and sees the primal fear that flickers through his eyes, the single frustrated tear that escapes down his face. It’s like that burn all over again, pulling his hands off Quentin but keeping them out, showing him: empty, no claws.

“So you’re done with Krakoa. You’re just going to leave?”

Quentin lets out a wet huff, a hand raking through his hair before he looks at Logan, shaking his head slightly. “Come on, Logan. You know me, don’t you? I’m _like you_ , right? So why the hell would you ever expect me to _stay_?”

What kills Logan the most is that he waits. Quentin doesn’t take the last word and flee into the night with it, doesn’t revel in the chance to one-up Logan, a repeat of the club where he’d left him to bleed. It’s a long moment of silence, the words hanging unanswered between them, where Quentin just _looks_ at him, hummingbird pulse still beating against his ribs as he waits to see if Logan has anything to say.

Quentin’s giving him a _chance_.

And Logan wishes he knew how to take it, but nothing comes, and Quentin just nods, slowly, drawing a shaky breath. “Yeah. I dunno either.”

He hefts his bag higher and turns to leave, and Logan lets him.

**Author's Note:**

> pretty sure quentin does live on krakoa in canon but guess what it makes me feel so i wrote it!!!
> 
> you can find me on twitter [@BlackBat09](https://twitter.com/BlackBat09) (NSFW)


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